Lords Of Time: The Tale Of The Last Days
by Jed Rhodes
Summary: The tale of the Time War, in all its ugliness. The Doctor faces a war that will change life as he understands it. This story uses elements from my other Eighth Doctor fics, as well as the End Of Time.
1. Chapter 1

_Maybe it was a was beyond imagination. Maybe the true tale would break the mind of human kind, and only the edges could be seen, broken and frayed as they were. Maybe those who fought in that war were beyond help. Maybe the stories that happened in that war could never be told._

_But if we dare try to guess at them, who knows what we may uncover? Truth? it might well be a hell of a story..._

* * *

The three nervous Time Lords stood opposite one another in the Room. They glanced at each other, each filled with private reservations about what was about to occur, what they were about to do, but they were part – if only in secret – of the CIA, and they would do what they must. The war had already begun, and would only continue from where it had developed, would only become more horrible and vain and brutal and destructive. If the plan they had worked, it would end right within relative weeks. Now all they had to do was summon him.

Within the Vortex Room, there resided a portal whereby the Time Lords could access the Vortex when emergency situations dictated the necessity. The three nervous Time Lords were Vortrax, Carnol and Serveck.

Vortrax was the Prydonian representative, a small and unimpressive man, with light blue eyes.

Carnol was the representative of the Arcalian academy, a tall noble looking man, with brown eyes and peroxide blonde hair.

Serveck was the Patraxes candidate, a middle aged appearing man with brown hair, brown eyes and a broken nose that had never healed properly, which everyone assumed he would get rid of come his next regeneration, though he himself quite liked it.

They stared into the expanse before them, each of them debating what they were about to do.

"Are we sure about this?" asked Carnol at last, breaking the tense silence.

"We have no choice", said Serveck, who had thought long and hard about this decision. He was the leader of this group in all but name, and the others followed his orders. They seemed to make sense, if nothing else.

They knew what was happening. What was coming; horror beyond imagination. They knew they would need warriors. _He _was about perfect.

"But how do we know we can trust him?" asked Vortrax, sceptically. "He's as devious a Time Lord as has ever existed."

The three Time Lords looked deep into the swirling expanse. It seemed to mock their indecisiveness – if they strained, they might have heard echoing laughter. Or it could have been the wind.

"He is all but dead", said Serveck at last. "He owes us."

"He is utterly insane", countered Carnol. "He won't care."

Serveck glowered at the others. He had run over all of these arguments in his own head a thousand times, and had come up with this as his answer anyway. Why could they not just accept his decision?

"I have thought about everything you say," he told them, "and all that you say leads me to just one conclusion. WE HAVE NO CHOICE!"

The other two bowed their heads at his impassioned shout, accepting this statement. It was true. They had no other choice. If they had had another choice, they would never have come here.

"Very well then", said Serveck in a faux- calm voice. "Now if that is all?"

The others nodded again.

Then, as one, they all stood forward. A lever came up to each, and each put their hand upon it.

The three looked at each other one last time. This was the point of no return. He would be free after this, and there was no way they could stop him if he ran out of control.

They each pulled the lever they had. The Eye opened, a great swirling Vortex, all blue and green and yellow and red… and in the heart of it there was a figure, only just discernable, twisting in agony.

Then the light receded, and the figure fell to the floor in a heap, naked and sweating. He was red raw, charred and burned, until the light came over him. The new regenerative cycle came to him and restored his shattered frame.

Serveck walked up to him, slowly, cautiously. The contempt on his face was plain as his broken nose.

New ears strained to hear what was being yelled at him.

"You, who insolently call yourself the Master, have been given a final chance," a voice said, a snarl of anger and barely restrained disgust. The Master blinked and held in a snarl of anger – his new body was firey. He liked that.

And the drums of course, were omnipresent as always, the rhythmic tapping calling him to battle. The Master looked up, and saw the figure of a grey-robed Time Lord standing over him.

"In exchange for doing a... small task for us," the strained, disgusted voice continued, "you have been granted a new life cycle, but now you must do the task and repay us."

The Master looked up at him, squinting. Young and handsome, blue eyes that were disfigured by the hatred that burnt within them, the insanity that shined clear. None of the Time Lords could bear to look at those eyes for long.

"Why should I help you?" he spat at last.

"Because if you don't, renegade," said Vortrax, "we will put you right back in that Vortex to die in horrible agony."

The Master looked at the assembled Time Lords, they could practically see the cogs turning. What they couldn't see was the drumming, and what he thought it might now mean.

A task. The Doctor, the last time they had met, had spoken of a war, a conflict that he had felt brewing. Could this now be it?

"Get me some clothes", he said at last, standing to his feet.

"Why?" asked Carnol slowly.

"I can't do your 'task' naked, can I?" snapped the Master. "Or would you like my various parts on show to the whole cosmos?"

The Time Lords looked at each other in mixed relief and trepidation – and mild amusement.

Serveck turned back to the Master and smiled coldly.

"Very well. Here is what you must do..."

* * *

"I thought, when we conceded to the act of Master Restitution, that they'd be satisfied," she said, coldy, angrily.

Madam President Romanadvoratrelundar was furious. And she was worried. She concentrated on the anger, letting it flow in chilled bursts of calm words, but keeping the emotion behind them there. She tried ignoring the worry, but it was always there. She forced herself to be angry. Anger was good. It kept people on their toes. Her most recent regeneration was an older woman, and she felt that it suited her position of authority well.

"We all thought that, Madam President, but it appears that they were not," said Vortrax, her chief adviser. "It seems they've found out about the Master's... exploits, on the planet Earth. And no matter how much we assure them that he is, they refuse to believe that he is dead."

Romana sighed, frustration and anger ebbing, replaced by hopelessness. The Act of Master Restitution – giving the Daleks the Master. The agreement was, the Daleks would be recognised as an authority so they could try the Master for crimes for which the penalty – like all penalty – would be death (thus, the Time Lords wouldn't have to get their hands dirty). Then the Master would be allowed a will. He got his wish.

"He is dead, though," she said, exasperatedly. "The Doctor assured me that after that business with the Eye of Harmony that he couldn't be alive, and that even if he was, his essence was scattered all over the Time Vortex, never to be seen again."

"Nonetheless, the Daleks believe he is alive," Vortrax said, "And they've stepped up their attacks. The Cruciform has fallen to a full Dalek fleet."

"What!" yelled Romana, horror struck. The Cruciform was the most powerful weapon in existence. The single most powerful weapon that had ever or would ever be created. When functioning properly, it was capable of causing a massive temporal meltdown that would destroy a planet before you could say Vortex, and it wasn't a nice blip-out-of-existence style meltdown either, oh no, it was the ugly kind…

"I know," Vortrax said, clearly sharing her horror at the news. "We had all the protection on it that was possible, but the Emperor is serious this time. Ten Million Dalek battlecruisers are heading for Arcadia, the Cruciform at their head."

Romana sat down; this was all too much... the Cruciform, taken? Arcadia, the great Time Lord colony, under attack? Then she calmed down. Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? It was so simple.

"Don't worry, Vortrax," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "We have a weapon the Daleks could only dream of."

"And what might that be, Madam President?" asked Vortrax sceptically.

"We have the Doctor," she said.

Vortrax's face lit up in dawning comprehension.

"I shall send for him at once, Madam President!" he said, and hurried off. Romana sat down, and smiled again. K-9, her faithful companion, trundled over to her.

"I have contacted the Doctor – master already, mistress," he said, his voice clipped and mechanical as always. "He will be arriving shortly, if my sensors are to be believed, which they are."

Romana patted him on the head. He was an arrogant sod, but she couldn't dream of a life without him.

"Good dog, K-9," she said softly. "Good dog."

She sat back. When the Doctor got here, she would explain, he would help, and the Daleks would be defeated. Just like the good old days.

* * *

Vortrax strode over to Carnol. The other Time Lord had been waiting for him for some time.

"No news from the Master?" he asked as soon as Vortrax reached him.

Carnol shook his head solemnly.

"If we're lucky, they killed him along with all the others," he said. "But if they got him alive..."

Vortrax finished the sentence.

"... then Rassilon knows what he'll tell them. He's not exactly honourable, or trustworthy, is he?"

The two exchanged doleful looks, and then went their separate ways, each hoping that the Master was dead.

* * *

It was quiet. A silence that deafened his soul to the point of being in pain. How could one bear that silence? How had he survived it, back in the old days after Ace and Hex had gone. His mission had been finished now. The secret war he had been fighting for years had ended; Davros was dead, destroyed.

On another side of the console, a light started flashing. He walked over to it, and flicked a switch, then checked the scanner; a message came up.

_RETURN HOME AT ONCE. WE ARE AT WAR._

He blinked once. Just once, and then he flicked several switches in quick succession. War. "We are at war." The Time Lords at war? Confusion reigned in his mind. It wasn't possible.

Except it obviously was.

He calmed himself down with an effort; if the Time Lords were at war, he knew it would be serious. He considered it carefully; obviously, there had been hints. The Master had known something, but that knowledge had bled away from him. The gangsters had known, the ones tracking his future (possible) incarnation. The Zagrites had mentioned... something. The angels and demons, fighting a war in heaven.

And the demons had been...

This was going to be bad, he just knew it.


	2. Chapter 2

"WHAT?" the yell echoed through the halls of the Panopticon.

The Doctor was having a really, really bad day. He was currently in his Eighth Incarnation, young (well, middle age-ish, if he was being honest with himself, and the thought made him slightly sad for a reason he didn't understand), dashing, and ever so slightly Edwardian. And he had been told several bad things at once.

For one thing, he had just learned that the time lords had started a war with the Daleks, or that the Daleks had started a war with the Time Lords (depending on which side you listened to). Five relative years ago, give or take a couple of months, although now the whole thing was apparently going to be timelocked until the end.

For another, he was now being told that the Cruciform, the greatest weapon the Time Lords had ever built, had fallen, and the Daleks were heading for Arcadia, the great Time Lord outpost, intending to destroy it with the Cruciform.

And he was only being told all of these things _now_.

"The reasons we didn't tell you at first," explained Romana, his former companion and currently president of the Time Lords, "were because we didn't think we needed to, and we didn't think it'd be worth the bother of getting you here. The Daleks were never much of a threat to _us_, even if they were to the lesser races."

"So why do you need me _now_?" asked the Doctor, mystified. "I mean, if they aren't a threat…"

"Because they are a threat," stated Romana bluntly. "We were wrong. They have ten million ships, and the Cruciform, and we can't stop them. I've enacted a Time Lock to keep the war from affecting history."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, shocked by the very idea of the Cruciform in Dalek hands… plungers… whatever.

"A time lock can't be escaped," he said at last. "You think it's gotten that bad?"

"We've had problems with most of our equipment," Romana said, "but we've employed the services of the Visionary – and from what she says, it's… bad."

"How bad?" the Doctor asked.

"Last Contact bad," Romana said. The Doctor's eyes widened. Last Contact was the foretold event that said Gallifrey would fall. The fact that the Daleks were now powerful enough to instigate a last contact situation scared the hell out of him.

"And I can help you, how, exactly?" he asked at last.

"You know more about the Daleks than anyone else," replied Romana imploringly, "so you can help stop them. They fear you, remember?"

"Yes, yes, 'the Oncoming Storm', but what good can I do?" countered the Doctor. "I'm one man, remember!"

"One man who has stopped the Daleks wherever he has gone," countered Romana. "One man who the Daleks fear more than any other. Gallifrey is counting on you, now, Doctor, you can't just abandon us. You know what happens if the Daleks win."

The Doctor stared at her for a long moment, then realised that he had no choice.

"How long has the war been going on since you summoned me?" he asked.

"From where we are, days," Romana said. "But this is the start of the war, in events terms. The middle of the war has already begun, and millions are dying. More will, soon. And more."

"The Visionary has told you this?"

"Yes," Romana said. "And she foretells worse."

The Visionary. The Doctor didn't like thinking about her. Like the Master, it was rumoured her ceremony had gone wrong when she was Eight. Unlike him, the madness had not manifested as drums, or any other noises, but as visions. Of past, of future. Visions that were _never wrong._ Oh, they might never come to pass, but they could have done.

"Right," the Doctor said. "Well, I'd better get going then."

* * *

The Doctor stood in his TARDIS, sighing at fate and what it had brought him.

After a rather unfortunate incident with a grenade and the old console room, the Doctor's TARDIS had switched to this. Coral theme was one thing, this was something quite different. He had a vague memory of being his Fifth self, standing in this very same console room. The memory, however, was quite dim…

"_What's this then? Coral? It's worse than leopard skin…"_

"_All my love to long ago…"_

He couldn't remember the face. Various regenerations and more than one incident of amnesia had driven it from him. But he remembered the voice. The enthusiasm. One day, he thought to himself, I'm going to be that man. It was an interesting thought.

He flicked a switch, and set the course Romana had given He was off to destroy the Cruciform, and any Daleks that happened to be on it. Sounded so simple on paper, but he knew that it wouldn't be like that. He had studied the blueprints for the machine, and was rather… upset by what he had discovered. The destruction of the craft would be difficult to achieve. Still, if anyone could do it, he could.

Ostensibly.

He spared a glance for his companions. General Vared, commander of the Capitol Guard, and thirty of his best troops, had been ordered to assist him, and they were standing around, looking nervously at the interior.

'Of course,' the Doctor thought to himself, 'none of them have ever been in any TARDIS other than classic theme TARDIS's.'

"How long until we're there?" asked Vared, looking impatiently at the destination screen – a dell laptop top, if the Doctor remembered rightly.

"Not too long, I don't think," replied the Doctor airily.

"Good," the military man said. "I hate waiting."

* * *

A blood curdling scream ripped through the corridors of the Cruciform, which, if anything other than a Dalek had heard it, would have destroyed their minds in moments. It came from a room, in which two Daleks stood. One was standing back, in a corner, and the other was holding a small red device to a humanoid figure. A Grandfather Clock stood in the corner.

"Cease," came an inhuman voice.

The Dalek pulled back from the weak, dishevelled figure on the torture rack.

"Divulge the secrets of the Time Lords, and you will be tortured no more!" said the voice of the Dalek Emperor.

The man looked at the Emperor. He was in his travel armour, which was rare for him. The man tried to sneer, but he couldn't quite make his face work.

"You have no loyalty to the Time Lords! You owe them nothing!" the Emperor continued, pressing his position.

"I don't resist you out of loyalty to them," said the man. "I resist them out of memory. I do not forget, Emperor."

The Master raised his head, the blue eyes burning.

"You ordered my execution. You shot me personally," he spat, contempt laced throughout his voice, as he gave up almost the last of his strength to say his piece. He had a sudden burst of inspiration. "And I would rather die a hundred deaths, or be tortured for eternity, then ever... help... you!"

The Dalek Emperor, sat in its battle casing, stood silent for a moment, digesting the Master's words.

"Nothing to say?" sneered the Master, his customary arrogance shining now. "I thought not. I'm not finished, anyway."

"Continue," said the Emperor carefully. It hoped that the Master would let something slip during his rants, something vital.

"If you think _I'm_ the worst the Time Lords will send after you, you're sadly mistaken," the Master muttered evilly. "They'll send _him_. He'll come, and every Dalek that exists, will die."

He grinned, showing yellow teeth.

"You don't stand a chance," he finished. "I only regret that I will not be here to watch."

Before the Emperor could speak, the Master jumped off the rack, the manacles opening under a solid lock pick that he had found under his skin. The Time Lords had provided everything. He rolled under their laser fire and went straight for his TARDIS, disguised as a grandfather clock as always.

He entered, closed the door, and went straight to the controls. The noise of screaming Daleks was instantly shut off.

Pain surged through his body - the Daleks were quite good at torture, and he knew his days were numbered in this form. He smiled, and thought words that he never thought he would.

'Thank the stars for the Time Lords...'

And then the light came. Bright as a star, burning his old self away, his face changing, becoming younger, cleaner, his hair shortening, his teeth whitening... and he screamed. He had forgotten how painful regenerating was, and in this new form, he doubted he would ever get used to it.

And there stood a new man. Blue eyes, a short nose, short silver hair. The new man spoke his first words, testing them out.

"I... am... the Master..."

He smiled, his eyes lighting up in pure joy. This event was a dream; a dream he had dreamt for decades, centuries millennia, he had lost track through pain and death...

Because he had regenerated. He was reborn.

"IT WORKED!" he yelled, dancing around the room. "I did it! I regenerated! Oh YES!"

He stopped. Fear laced across his features, worry through his mind.

'What if the Daleks find me?' he thought, suddenly. 'They're winning, and they hold grudges almost as much as me...'

It was a disturbing thought. And of course, he couldn't just go home having failed because the Time Lords would decide to send him off on another suicide mission. Suicide missions were unpleasant, and he liked being able to regenerate.

There was another, more disturbing thought whenever the Master thought of the Daleks with the cruciform. A vague sense of… unease?

Fear…?

He shuddered. Afraid? Yes, definitely.

Staying?

No chance in all the hells.

'I have no choice...' he thought. He glanced up to the ceiling of his black TARDIS console room, then he pressed a button on the console, and the chameleon arch sprang down...

* * *

The Doctor's TARDIS materialised in a small corridor of the Cruciform, blank metal and walls. Inside, Vared and co un-shouldered their weaponry, and looked around. The Doctor checked the scanner.

"Is this the place?" asked Vared.

"Only one way to find out," replied the Doctor. He thought it was, but he was never too careful.

They went outside the doors. The TARDIS had landed next to a viewport. Visible in the window was a beautiful planet, pinkish clouds swirling over a pale purple sea, and green land...

The Doctor looked out at it. The planet wasn't so much as interesting as the things above it.

Dalek ships flew everywhere, dog fighting against little diamond shaped ships, firing down on the surface...

"Arcadia..." said Vared, horror evident in his voice. "The Cruciform has reached Arcadia…"

"Not any more," the Doctor said grimly. "This is the Fall of Arcadia. We were too late."

Staring at the death of a world, the Doctor vowed that this was the end. The Daleks would pay for this.

"Come on, Vared," he said softly. "We have work to do."

* * *

The Visionary. A woman who had raw time flowing through her veins, a time-sensitive who knew what was to be and what was never to be, what might be, what was, what could have been, and all the various variations.

In short, quite valuable in a war of Paradoxes.

"Falling, burning, dying," she muttered. She could sense everything that was to come. Everything. She didn't want Gallifrey to fall, but she knew there was little hope of its salvation, even if the Time Lords gave up their noble ideals (which she thought they might as well, since the noble ideals were all well and good when you were the top of the heap, but when you were edging towards extermination - literally - you might as well sink a little to win and worry about consequences later).

No hope. Not really.

Unless…

Things hit her, one after the other, after the other. Images, thoughts, feelings… and then she knew. A name, one all Time Lords knew.

"Rassilon," she began murmuring. "Rassilon. Rassilon."

The murmur grew louder, until it was a chant. The chant grew louder, until it was a mantra. Then a call.

Then, it was a scream.


	3. Chapter 3

"Doctor!" yelled Vared, over the bolts of death flying around him. "We can't hold them for long!"

The Doctor, working quietly and tensely at the Cruciform engine room, pulled a lever, flicked a switch and pressed a big red button. "Don't worry, I only need thirty seconds at best," he called back, his voice calm and controlled.

Vared turned back to the corridor, hoping he could indeed deliver that much time.

Only twelve of his men had survived, and they were being steadily whittled down by persistent Dalek attacks. Vared blasted three more Daleks in as many shots, but there were hundreds left to take their place. The swarmed like some unholy metal insects through the hole in the doorway they'd blasted.

"Doctor," he called, blasting another Dalek, "has it occurred to you how we're going to get out of here through all these Daleks?"

The Doctor didn't reply. He just kept working.

"Doctor!" called Vared again.

"Don't worry General," the Doctor called back. "I have a plan."

He didn't, of course. As per usual, he was just winging it. But this was more important then him or Vared, or any ONE person. The Cruciform in Dalek hands was almost too horrible to contemplate.

He flicked another switch, and then braced himself. This could hurt.

He pulled the final lever.

And held it down.

The energy built up, warming the lever up somewhat, but he held on. He had to…

Vared heard a terrible scream from inside the room. Had the Daleks found another way in? Was that the Doctor's death scream? He prayed not. He pulled back, and ducked inside, bracing himself for the worst.

And it was worse then that.

The Doctor was holding down a lever, energy wracking his body. Whenever he moved, there was a temporal echo that moved in a different direction. The Temporal engines were dying, knackering the mechanics of the vessel, destroying everything - and taking the Doctor with them.

Vared stared, horror struck, for just a moment longer, unable to help, and then the Doctor was suddenly thrown backwards, ramming into the wall.

Before he could even begin to move to help him, another scream came from behind him, and he was amazed to see the Doctor, collapsing to the ground, smouldering slightly.

Vared looked in amazement as two Doctor's lay on the floor. The one closest to the lever was pale, his skin mottled, still as death, the other was already stirring, rubbing his head and getting to his feet.

As Vared moved to help the more injured one, a wheezing groaning sound filled the air, and the Doctor's TARDIS materialised.

"Well don't just stand there, help me up!" said the stirring Doctor.

Vared hesitated between the two Doctors, then grabbed the stirring one's hand and pulled him to his feet, still wearing his astonished expression.

"What's the matter?" asked the Doctor, before looking down at his doppelganger.

"Ah," he said, almost dumbstruck. "That's not right."

He turned to Vared, who was wearing the same expression the Doctor had now adopted.

"I set the engines to overload," he said. "The Cruciform will explode in minutes, and the TARDIS is right there. I suggest we leave."

Vared nodded, snapping himself out of his reverie at last.

"Capitol Guard! Orderly withdrawal!" he called.

Six Guardsmen pulled back through the door, laying down suppressing fire to hold the Daleks back. Two of them helped the unconscious Doctor into the TARDIS, and the Doctor and Vared entered. The TARDIS dematerialised just as the Daleks entered.

"Where are they?" called one of the enraged Daleks.

"They have escaped!" yelled another.

"Activate the Cruciform!" a third screeched. "We will exterminate Arcadia once and for all!"

And so screaming, they didn't notice the time engines starting to warp...

From space it looked something like this. The Cruciform, a giant cross in space, with energy crackling at one end, started buckling, and warping, then it exploded.

It lit the skies of Arcadia - then burned them away. The Dalek fleet was eradicated, the defending time lord ships - what was left of them - burned out of the sky. Arcadia itself was scorched...

The Doctor stared at the destruction he had caused.

"It all seems such a waste now, doesn't it?" he said softly. "So pointless."

Vared put his hand on the Doctor's shoulder, saying nothing. The Doctor sighed, then turned to his double, who was lying on a sofa.

He was quite still.

"Is he alive?" asked Vared. "Is he going to regenerate?"

The Doctor smiled at him, and held a finger up to shush him.

"Watch," he said. "And wait."

And they did. As they watched, the Doctor on the sofa started glowing, a soft light at first, gradually building up, covering his features, whiting out his face and hands...

Then the light receded, slowly, revealing a new man. Pointed nose, black hair streaked with silver, sallow complexion, sideburns...

He opened his eyes, and they were an electric blue. He stared up at the other Doctor.

"Oh pants," he said. "This is getting ridiculous."

He sat up, looked around, and stared at the Eighth Doctor for a full minute.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said at last. "You're gone."

"Evidently not," the Eighth smiled.

"What's the last thing you remember?" asked Vared gently.

The Ninth Doctor (for he was) looked thoughtful for a moment, which was quite difficult considering his position, and then he answered.

"I was pulling a lever... back on the Cruciform," he said. "Trying to make it explode, I can't remember…"

He clicked his fingers, and sat up a bit.

"The Cruciform!" he yelled. "Did we sort out the Cruciform, Vared old chap?"

Vared looked taken aback at being addressed as "old chap", but the Eighth Doctor answered.

"It's gone, blown to bits."

"And Arcadia?" the Ninth Doctor asked.

"Gone as well," the Eighth said sadly.

The Ninth Doctor looked utterly horrified for just a moment, then shrugged and stood up.

"Oh well," he said, sighing. "Life goes on, and all that. There is a war on, you know. I need some new clothes..."

And with that, he walked off to find the TARDIS wardrobe.

Vared looked at the Eighth Doctor in shock.

"'Life goes on?'" he repeated, appalled.

The Eighth Doctor smiled grimly, and then looked in the direction his future/alternate self went.

"As I said after my Fourth regeneration, that's the trouble with regeneration," he said. "You never know how it's going to turn out. Or," he added, as if it was an afterthought, "who you're going to be saddled with."

The Doctor looked at Vared, then sighed and sat down on the chair his future/alternate.

"As visions of the future go, it's quite horrible..."

The Dalek Emperor sat in the temporal escape pod, surrounded by his personal guard. In a matter of hours, Dalek ships would pick up his distress signal, and he would be put back in his main casing...

He vowed vengeance for the Daleks. The Doctor would pay, as would the whole Time Lord race.

The fleet would attack Gallifrey, and it would burn...


End file.
